


give it up, just enough

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: Episode Related, F/M, Fic, M/M, Multi, Pre-Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 15:04:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An episode tag for 4.16. Spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	give it up, just enough

**Author's Note:**

> In which I stretch my writing muscles and try to make sense of El's recent decisions.

El is numb to the bone. She gets in the car and drives, no plan, no thought, no destination. Maybe she'll go to the prison and demand to see Peter. Maybe her in-laws, upstate. They need to be told in person, reassured that their son will be all right. She runs a red light, earning an angry honk from a sports car and a yell from a cyclist, and she pulls over, shaken. Forces herself to think. 

Peter's been arrested for James Bennett's crime. El goes to Neal's place. She doesn't knock, and it's like walking into a war room. Mozzie, Neal, Diana, Clinton Jones, all talking -- some of them on the phone, some to each other. "Where would he go?" "Pull traffic cams within a half-mile radius of Riverside Drive." The table is cluttered with files, laptops, empty coffee mugs. The air smells faintly of perfume. El can't parse what's going on. It's like she's underwater. And then Neal sees her and everything stops.

"Elizabeth." It's Diana who speaks, Peter's right hand. "Are you all right? You shouldn't be alone."

It's a stupid thing to say. El is alone. Alone for twenty to life, no matter how many people she surrounds herself with. She thinks of Kate visiting Neal every week for four years. That's her now. That's going to be her. A sob catches in her throat. She swallows it. "Diana, could I talk to Neal alone?"

Neal stiffens, and it takes El a moment to realize she's echoed her own words from the hospital, when Peter was unconscious. When El demanded Neal back off, lie, leave them in peace. She could do it again now: give yourself up for Peter, give everything up. She can taste the words.

Neal murmurs something quiet and urgent-sounding to Mozzie, who nods, gathers an armful of papers and a laptop and efficiently bundles the agents out of the room, Clinton on the phone all the while. The door closes. El and Neal are alone. The refrigerator hums.

"Mozzie's working with us to find my father," says Neal. "We'll bring him in."

"It makes no difference, if he won't confess." El knows this. "Neal--"

Neal bows his head, readying himself for whatever sentence she cares to bestow, and El steps closer. She wants to touch him. Diana is Peter's right hand, but Neal is the only one who understands this gaping fear and loss. El can see it in his face, behind his veneer of control and action. His heart is breaking too.

"I was jealous," El blurts out. "That's why I asked you to lie."

Neal guides her to an armchair -- not the table -- and sits on the couch across from her. She wishes he were closer. "Jealous," he prompts, looking confused.

"Peter would do anything for you. Literally anything. He killed Adler, he risked his life and his career, and now this--"

"I'm so sorry," says Neal, hoarse and honest. "If I'd known what kind of a man my father is, I'd never have--"

"Don't call him that," snaps El. "Say James. He doesn't deserve to be your father."

"He is." Flat and uninflected. Resigned. 

"Neal, Peter cares for you so much, I was afraid I would lose him," says El carefully. Her husband is locked in a cell right now. He can't convey what's important, but she can speak on his behalf.

"And now you have," says Neal, missing the point. "But we'll find James, Elizabeth. We'll find a way to bring Peter home. I promise." His knuckles are white. "We have to."

"Listen to me," says El. "I was afraid I would lose Peter to you."

It takes a split second for Neal to understand, and then he pales. "That isn't-- Peter would never--"

"I know," says El quickly, noting the limits of Neal's denial. "But he'll do anything for you, and he wouldn't have dreamed of giving up the case against Pratt for me -- not even if I begged. I told you to lie to prove to myself-- to stake my claim. He's mine."

"Of course." Neal frowns slightly. He doesn't understand that his obedience, his willingness to relinquish his claim on Peter, the lengths he'll go to to protect Peter and El herself -- these soothe her fears the way Peter's reassurance never could.

El bites her lips together, tastes lipstick. She was getting ready for dinner when Jones called with the news. She's dressed for celebration. She looks at Neal, the only one who can understand that right now, the world is collapsing around their ears. "He's ours."

"What are you saying?" Neal's watching her, transfixed and bewildered. With all that's happening, with Peter out of reach, El's heart still goes out to him. 

"I'm saying that Peter's mine because we love each other," says El, feeling her way. "And he's yours too, because you-- I know how you feel about him, Neal. I've seen your face. You don't look at anyone else that way." Not even Sara.

Neal doesn't deny it. He must know there's no point. "I would never-- Elizabeth, I have every respect for your marriage."

"I know. You've proven that, and I wouldn't be saying this if I didn't believe it." El can't help herself, she moves to sit beside him on the couch. "Peter deserves to be happy, to have everything he wants. I want that. And if you love him, and if he loves you, then that is something we-- I'm willing to work it out."

"If he loves me." It's impossible to read Neal's face, but there's a tremor in his voice, a deep-hidden longing.

"I can't speak for him, but I believe--" El pictures Peter and Neal as she's seen them a hundred times, the bright connection between them, the quick understanding, the way their bodies mirror and draw together. She imagines having this conversation with Peter present, the inevitable stuttered protests, the reassurance, the comical relief, but that fantasy is quickly overridden by the thought of orange jumpsuits, and she feels herself crumpling. "I don't-- Neal." It's a cry for comfort, and he answers immediately, putting his arms around her, still unfailingly deferential. 

"I know," he says against her hair. "We'll bring him home."

She leans into him, and his arms, the warmth of his body are more comfort than she expected. She takes a deep breath, pulling herself together. "Do you need to find the others, get back to work?"

"Moz knows everything I know," says Neal, "but--"

"I'll take that 'but' as a yes." El touches his face, distracted by tiny imperfections and asymmetries. "You're not my rival," she says softly. "If Peter comes home--"

"When."

"When. When Peter comes home, we'll figure this out." She presses a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.

His eyes are steady on hers. "If you're sure--" He pauses, giving her a chance to take it back. She doesn't. His mouth quirks into a faint smile. "I'd like that."

El squeezes his hand, testing herself. It feels right. He's been part of their lives for so long, she wonders now why she tried to fight it. Insecurity was part of it, because Neal shares something with Peter she never could, but the booking at the Rusty Egret put that fear to rest: what she and Peter have is incomparable and uniquely their own. Quiet, solid bedrock. Neal can't steal it -- he wouldn't want to. There's nothing to lose and all kinds of adventures to gain, if only they can bring Peter home. It's an impossible task, but Neal is determined, and El knows she can count on him. He's done the impossible before. 

"You have to get back to work," she says. "And I-- how can I help?"

Neal bends his head and kisses her cheek, not quite the liberty she took with him, but something new for them. "Well, you are one of the smartest people I know, and we can always use another pair of eyes."

"You're not just saying that," she says. "If I'm going to slow you guys down, then tell me. I can take it."

His smile is fond, his eyes serious. "I'm not just saying that. Come on."

They stand, still hand in hand. He's no replacement for Peter, never could be, but that's not at all what she wants from him. He's Neal Caffrey, con artist, solver of puzzles, knight errant. You wouldn't want him dating your sister, but your husband is a different proposition entirely. He's their Neal, she knows Peter feels it too. He's family. 

 

End


End file.
